(Jokers Wild, Set 3: Fury Of The Jokers Wild)
Set 1 extends on SEED. Set 2 rebuilds SEED Destiny in following with the changing history.
Set 3 is where you see the blossoming of the nations into the Star Empires that they could be.
And Set 3 is where the future of the Cosmic Era is rewritten by a combination of chance and collision.
Set 3 will follow closely on one person, one lady whose future quickly becomes uncertain in an uncertain Empire, only to find her way in a goal that many believe is beyond her — I won't say too much beyond that, the story will cover it all. That said, the story properly revolves around six persons, as shown below in the prologue chapter. All six will contribute to the changing era in their own ways, all six will make significant marks on the history to come, and all six have their own reasons for doing what they do.
Not only will the focus be primarily on the main six of the story, but as the chapters go on I'll be taking a dive into the societies and nations of the Cosmic Era in part and in sections here and there, looking at the common people and the shadows of the Empires. The latter is a critical one: as will be shown here in the main effort, each of the Empires (and especially Mendel) has some deep, dark shadows and recesses where people can disappear into the darkness of interplanetary and interdimensional Star Empires. In fact, one of the themes of the story is moving from shadow to shadow until it is necessary to step into the light, and how residing in the darkness can skew someone's perception and attitude.
Another thing to consider is that, while I have a huge amount of material for the story itself, a lot of it will have to be spun off to side stories for obvious reasons. Some of this material just does not jive with the main, and given the pace of certain chapters, going through some of the events would double the size of the chapters or more. So, expect some coming and pretty stiff side stories, and I'll try to add at least some of the relevant info into the main story sections as appropriate. I've already got two planned, and likely to add at least one more than that, but I can't explain lest it constitute spoilers for coming action.
The timeline is 470s Cosmic Era. The future may not be what it used to be, but it certainly will not be any more peaceful than the past.
Welcome to the Cosmic Era Star Empires.
-x-x-x-x- DISCLAIMERS -x-x-x-x-
As stated in prior works, this story contains a lot of characters, units, governments, history that I have created and that I have incorporated from other works. A lot of this is a multi-crossover fanfiction, basically, with elements as far-flung as anime, books, television, video games and board games. I will introduce most of the material as is needed, the rest (and interesting or entertaining facts) will be footnoted in my usual fashion. Thus, when you see (0) it means to check footnote 0 at the bottom of the document for some interesting intel. Seriously, go ahead, scroll down to the bottom of the chapter and check it, there is a footnote 0 at the bottom. I guarantee it. You might even find it useful. Much of the footnotes will be a clarification to something that people might find confusing, like an unfamiliar concept or term. Some of it may be humorous as well.
Note that the primary warship in the story was built using Battletech's rules from Aerotech 2, but is not legal for Battletech / Aerotech play, as it is well over twice too heavy for the maximum weight limit. Specs for the involved units will be included in dribbles in the story and I will do a full TRO section of the various units at the end of the chapters, as there are some that like the conversions from Gundam to Battletech. By the way, if anyone has thus far actually used one of the conversions in an Aerotech 2 game, please message or review with your opinions of the conversion.
Purists take note: I am trying to scale all included elements into a relatively cohesive set of comparisons here, though there are marked disparities in all included elements. They will be obvious, as they should be. When universes collide, the sound they make is loud and very very scary. There is simply no way to get around it, but one can make it (somewhat) logical. This will mean that I WILL have to call Gundam on its engineering problems, and I WILL call Battletech on its engineering problems. There's plenty of FUBAR to go around.
GENERAL DISCLAIMER: I own no rights to any included material from any other stories. I intend no offense in such use.
VIOLENCE WARNING: It is the root of all Gundam, for without violence there is no war. Otherwise, it is called 'negotiations', follow? And even I cannot imagine a 'Gundam' with only negotiating, such would be less entertaining than watching paint dry.
OC WARNING: This story is OC-centric, and not in the typical fashion. Of course the main characters and a lot of the secondary and side characters of SEED, SEED Destiny, and SEED Astray will show up. You have been warned.
BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING: This story revolves around a fleet of misfits and jokers. Expect foul language; they are Navy and Marines, after all. Also expect possible suggestiveness, crazy situations, interpretiveness, analysis, and lots and lots of violence. You have been warned.
DICE WARNING: Events in this story will be controlled by the dice, and are concrete, true-random results provided by number generation services. These results will change events dynamically and/or modify established plans. After all, there is no mistress more cruel than fate.
POLITICAL WARNING: Political concepts and methods may be presented in this story that may conflict with established 'norms'. This is deliberate on the part of the author, to show different and rather sharp viewpoints on these subjects. The views expressed most likely do not match the views of the author, and are also subject to the dice at any time.
ANTI-POLITICAL CORRECTNESS WARNING: AT NO TIME will this story be politically correct. Real life is not politically correct, much less 'nice' in some definitions of the word. If you take issue with this, I recommend finding another read.
ZZZ-END DISCLAIMERS-ZZZ
(Joker's Wild, Set 3: Fury Of The Jokers Wild)
(Prologue: Six Roads)
The history and analysis written in the centuries to come after the CE 470s would cover many topics, be the subject of many documentaries and even some feature films, but a single line in an obscure report would catapult an analyst to overnight fame for her social analysis of the dynamic of the key players in the drama.
The six key players of that nasty period in history were all born within two weeks of each other. Adjusting for the dimensional temporal difference between the two dimensions, three were born within four days of each other, with two born on the same day three days later, and the last born six days after the prior. Only two of the six would survive into a fifth decade of life, but their effective start dates were not far apart.
The reality of their lives, and the nightmare they lived, would be distorted over the decades into a romanticized tale that would echo far into the future, even over the objections of those who dug out the truth. Beyond what distortion of their tale would be had, no person could deny that a mere six persons effectively changed the course of Cosmic Era history completely.
-x-x-x-
(21 April, CE 469, 1100 Hours Local Time)
(Brelle Mansion, Kileska Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
"I don't understand why I have to do this, father," Sionet said to her father. "What is the value of learning the pistol? I'm not going to be a frontline combatant for the family."
"And I would not ask you to," Jakob Brelle said. "This isn't about directly fighting someone. This is about you defending yourself if someone tries to harm you or your children in years to come."
No intention of having children, Sionet thought behind a passive face. After ten years of growing up in one of the crime families of Carver V, she knew she did not want to inflict her childhood on any more children, even to the point of 'reaving' the family. The mistakes she had lived were the kind that did not need to happen, ever, much less repeatedly in successive generations. (Not that she had much say in the matter of inflicting her past on future generations, as her elder sister was already making noise about a family.)
Sionet did not need any more 'persuasion' on the matter. This was one of those subjects in the family that nobody took a pass on, everyone had to learn how to use pistols, and anyone capable of using heavier arms had to learn those as well. Sionet figured, probably in the next few years, she would be trained on sub-machineguns and assault rifles, marksman rifles, possibly even shotguns and light machine guns if she ended up physically larger than her mother. All in service to the 'Family', of course.
Sionet Brelle nodded her acceptance and took up her pistol again. The procedure was the same as it always was. Verify weapon clear. Insert magazine, release slide. Select target. Take aim. Sight alignment. Trigger squeeze. One round, two rounds, four rounds, six rounds, eight rounds, ten rounds. Release magazine, lock open weapon.
"Every week, your scores improve. I hope you never have to use these skills, but they will be there when needed," Sionet's father said.
"If I must use these skills, it might be a bad day," Sionet said offhand.
The younger Brelle daughter picked up her fourth magazine of the day and loaded it. Again, she focused downrange to take the measure of her target, then focused nearer to herself — specifically on the front sight of her Walther pistol — to let loose the rounds. Seven rounds went downrange, which resulted in five bullseyes and two ten-ring strikes. To her way of thinking, it was a stupidly easy way of doing battle — she figured she wanted to be a pilot, either Mobile Suit or Battlemech, if she had to do battle. Pistol and rifle warfare were already close to mastered skills for her, which made them a bit boring to her. What she really wanted to do (and would never tell her relatives) was pilot a Gundam.
Jacob Brelle chuckled. "Seven rounds in a space of two inches," he said, deliberately using the old-world English measurement for spacing. Even if the rest of Existence used the metric system, the Brelle Mafia (as did several other mafiosi groups) still spoke of measurements in the old-world fashion. "That is a dead man, if need be."
Sionet rammed home her fifth magazine and released the slide on the round to chamber and make ready. This time, she took the effort to put two eye-holes in the silhouette target, and five rounds in a rough simulacrum of a smile. With those last rounds done, she dropped out the magazine and cleared the pistol, then chamber-flagged it. "I can do a tighter smile with a rifle," she admitted, given two of the rounds were a bit jagged compared to the overall effect.
"It gets the message across," Jacob acknowledged the feat of accuracy. "Clean it and reload, you're done for the day."
"Yes, father," Sionet answered meekly. Weapons maintenance was serious business in the family, and everyone who had qualified carried, including Sionet.
-x-x-x-
(21 April, CE 469, 1100 Hours Local Time)
(Long Sky Orphanage, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
Orphanages weren't uncommon on the continent of Dendez, the more heavily urbanized of the three major continents on this instance of Carver V also had something of a gangland war problem. It wasn't major, but it happened and in one case, happened to a young child of 8. Two years later, that one child did not see a way out of the matter.
Kyle scoffed at the social worker's claim. "I don't agree with a lot of the legal crap happening, but I agree a lot less with the Mafiosi fighting it," he said bluntly.
"Why?" the social worker asked.
That simple question set off what little temper Kyle had. "Have you read my file? These mobsters killed my parents in a gunfight between rival gangs. There is no way in Hell I will ever sympathize with them."
"I read it," the social worker realized she had just crossed a line that wasn't easy to step back across. "Are you willing to forgive them?"
"Individually, maybe, if they're ever caught for it and punished. As an organization? Hell no. Why should I applaud criminals?"
The social worker realized that she had backed herself into a corner with that question, and there was no artful way to dig deeper on the subject without a claim of severe bias, so she decided that was it for that line of questioning. Her next question was pertaining to schoolwork, always a testy subject for orphans, so… "Next question set, what are your feelings on the schoolwork and the roving instructors?"
"The instructors we have are pretty cool, except for Miss Barrent, she's always pissed off about something or other, vents on us all the time for no damn reason," Kyle Trado said. "The workload is neutral, I don't think it is good or bad. Could use a better selection of subjects, the basics are all good but several of us were on advanced courseloads before we landed here."
"What do you have in mind?"
"I was working toward civil engineering, at least one of us was working on computer sciences, you know, stuff like that," Kyle said.
"Okay, I'll put in some recommendations," she said. "Next question, what are your thoughts on the environment?"
Kyle stopped to scratch his head in puzzlement. "You mean here at the orphanage? The general city life? The planet's overall environment?"
"Well, any of the above," the social worker decided it was an interesting possible segue into multiple areas.
"On the orphanage, only complaint I have is we need a bigger water heater. After about ten showers out of the occupants, the water gets cold quick. Otherwise, I like it. Not as much as my old place, but it's good." Kyle sighed. "On the city life, Westport is a decent town. Still like Hagerstown better, but it is bigger."
"And the planetary environment, or the continent if you don't really want to go that far?" the social worker asked.
"Continent isn't bad, it's a bit more industrialized than I like but Kileska is still mostly rural. The islands were a fun visit before my parents were killed, and overall weather, no complaints."
"So you're not worried about planetary warming?"
"No real need to be worried, I think," Kyle said. "From what I've seen of meteorological numbers, Earth is in a cooling cycle and Carver V has been stable for two centuries."
The social worker took some more notes. "And I believe that is the end of my directed questions. Anything you want to get off your chest?"
Only that I dislike these social worker visits, Kyle thought but didn't say aloud. "Nothing really, just chewing through my school work, helping around here, and waiting for the next season of Thunder Run Racing," Kyle said offhand, figuring that was innocuous enough.
"And that brings me to another question on the topic of school courses, do you have any votes for physical activities courses?"
Kyle didn't miss a beat on this one: "Kenjutsu instruction would be nice, or barring that, greco-roman wrestling are my two votes."
The social worker dutifully took down the options. "Thank you, mister Trado, I'll process your recommendations and see if I can free up some extra resources for the orphanage," the social worker said. "Please send Kylie in for her session, if you would?"
"Will do," Kyle took his leave of the social worker and summoned in the next person to face her interrogation.
ZZZ — PLANETARY BRIEF: Carver V (Mendel) — ZZZ
Roughly 21 light-years rimward (south on most nominal star maps) from Terra rests the Carver system, of which two planets are notable: Carver IV and Carver V. Carver IV is mostly an industrial concern, and requires extensive habitability support (underground or enclosed cities and facilities) to be of much use. As of the CE 470s, some mining consortiums have put forth proposals to the Mendel Grand Council for exploitation, though none have been accepted.
The true jewel of the Carver system is Carver V. In the natural history of the Inner Sphere, it is a world heavily fought over for its extensive water resources and fertile ground for farming. Over the centuries of space travel of that history, it would trade hands multiple times between multiple parties, be briefly independent, and even be the site of one of the most stalwart defensive actions of the Amaris Civil War of the Star League era. Materially its value is middling in terms of heavy industry, where this planet truly excels is agriculture.
In the hands of the Protectorate of Mendel, Carver V was the second planet colonized by the Protectorate on their journey rimward, and for good reason: the Magi always made sure to exploit New Home and Carver V as their first planets after Terra, mainly because of their mineral resources and extensive agricultural value that requires only a small modicum of terraforming to reach peak efficiency. With the Protectorate's territory in the Home Dimension encompassing both worlds, the massive boost in agriculture, mining, and manufacturing provided by both worlds gave them an early head-start farther out into the stars. So it went with Mendel, a step behind the other Star Empires on their initial push of expansion, but using a tried and true expansion plan gave them an instant leg up on the competition in the early CE100s.
Geographically, Carver V has three decent-sized landmasses, traditionally named Chone, Dendez, and Kileska, but the main feature of the world is the chains of islands wrapping around the planet's surface. These chains provide a lot of space for oceanic shipping concerns, one of the big ones being fishing for edible fish and especially for the Crocale — an aquatic reptile whose hide turns out an iridescent green leather. In the decades after commercial fishing was released on Carver V, Crocale Leather quickly became a major export of the planet to all the Star Empires as a sustainable luxury material for the blossoming economies of the many worlds.
In terms of usable land mass, Carver V is only 12 percent land to 88 percent water, and what land is on the planet is dominated by islands. Given the planetary gravity on the world is 0.84G Terran reference, persons born on Carver V tend to be taller on average compared to Terrans.
-x-x-x-
(21 April, CE 469, 1100 Hours Local Time)
(Skies over Rural Kileska Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
Some may have scoffed at the use of the word 'prodigy' in these modern times, especially with better than half of the population Coordinator or descended from them, but occasionally someone came across the title naturally and with perfect accuracy.
And, when the continent of Kileska knew that they had an electronics prodigy in their midst, there would be requests for service. Being almost completely rural, skilled repairmen were hard to come by, so anyone with the skillset was in for a busy (and lucrative) career — even if it started at age eight and continued to age ten with no sign of stopping.
"Coming in for a landing here in a minute, sister," Shinta announced on the craft intercom. Shin, being 14, had his flight certificate for VTOLs, and Tsukiko was working on hers but was not eligible until she turned 12 (farm equipment allowance for minors to certify on heavy equipment or aerospace).
"Got it," Tsukiko answered in a distracted fashion. "Anderson Farm, problem with the controller boards on an automated harvester," she read off her schedule, then turned back to her present project and stowed it in a lined / padded bin that she locked the lid down on. As much as she wanted to build her own super-server, work came first.
Tsukiko and Shinta Sakato operated on a very regulated timetable, they were allowed to be out no more than 96 hours in a week for their 'business' functions, the other days they were required (by law) to be home for homeschooling. In practice, this resulted in them being out for two days, home for two days, out for two days, home for one day, and they were always working on their schoolwork when on break.
Thankfully, their father had for them the best possible choice of craft to cover an area of land mass roughly the same as Europe on Terra. An old Chinook II-S VTOL (helicopter) served as their personal transport from job site to job site, personal workshop for the two to ply their trade of electronics and mechanical equipment service, and personal quarters for when they were on the go. The old helo had been a steal at an auction, a 10,000 C-bill piece of equipment that nobody wanted and which their father had bid down to 6,000 c-bills so he could repair it. It was nothing for the two to make five, six stops in a day, and maintenance on the bird was done by their father when it was home.
"Buckled in," Tsukiko reported after the helo began slowing down and descending for landing.
"Coming down, now, now, now," On the third repeat, the helo jolted from the landing as the landing gear took up the impact.
The rotors took about a minute to spin down, which Tsukiko used to gather up her two toolbags she expected she would need for this fix, her standard tools and her soldering kit. Once the rotor safety light came on (rotors stopped or not moving very fast), she tripped the rear cargo hatch lever to the 'open' position.
She wasn't expecting to see the farmer, John Anderson, waiting for her with a horse.
"Not the usual one today?" Tsukiko asked, pointing to a nearby unit that was not unknown for breaking down in the middle of a harvest operation.
"That one is also down, but the troubling one is my northern plot. Can you ride?"
"I'm about to learn how," Tsukiko said warily. The two tool bags went into the saddlebags for the horse's gear, they were flexible enough to fold down to a reasonable size, and she climbed up with no issue.
"Surprising, less than half of greenhorns can figure mounting out on their own," farmer Anderson said.
"We grew up on John Wayne movies," Tsukiko said. "Lead on, sir."
The horse ride out to Anderson's northernmost plot was not overlong, five minutes at a decent trot, though the stopped harvester partway through the planting cycle was a bit ominous to her.
"What happened?" Tsukiko asked after they dismounted at the control system for the harvester.
"It was going along properly, proper spacing and everything, then it missed a row, planted a row, missed a row, and stopped cold."
"Notice any smoke, fire, any unusual sounds?" Tsukiko asked in series as she pulled her tool bags out of the horse's saddle bags.
"Nothing that I saw or heard." John Anderson took his hat off and scratched his head. "Did the first 50 acres with no issue."
The automatic farming / harvesting units in use on Terra, New Earth, and Carver V (so far) were very efficient and usually very reliable. Each machine ran on rack tracks spaced several hundred meters apart, and in this case the machine spanned three sections 400 meters wide. The auto-farming machines fed in and out from conveyor feed systems at each end of the machine, and the only limitation was how long a farmer wanted to make his fields and thus the feed system / rack rails for the machine. The automation allowed a relatively small amount of farmers to provide food and material to a massive population.
At least until the automated systems stopped working. That's when Tsukiko was one of the first persons called unless the obvious culprit was mechanical.
The control system on the Hareg 3001 Auto-Harvesters were mercifully located on the outside leg of the unit, rather than in the center control box as was common on the Datsumo Auto-Harvesters. Tsukiko only had to climb up four rungs of ladder, take three short stairs up, and was staring at the access panel for the unit. Four bolts later, she was in the panel.
Ten seconds of inspection with a flashlight told her enough. "Well, there's the problem," Tsukiko said.
"How bad?"
"Parts, nothing unrecoverable," she said. "Power regulator and main accumulation capacitors detonated." Her first weapon on this one would be a notepad to take size and capacitance information for each of the blown capacitors. Second, she checked the other capacitors on the board for damage, and found another two that needed to be replaced but had not spectacularly blown. Her third step was a magnifying glass to check the board for any other damage, and an induction tester for the various cable lengths on the board to verify none of the cables were burnt out (only one didn't meet specification).
Her next move was to send a picture of her list to Shinta, who would pre-prep the needed materials and replacement parts from stores in the helo, and have them waiting for transport when Tsukiko arrived. A five-minute ride back to the helo and her older brother had the container of parts ready, followed by another five minutes ride back out to the failed harvester.
"If I may ask, how did you get into this?" John Anderson asked as Tsukiko began desoldering the capacitors off the control board.
"I learned early on that I was good with repairing electronics and appliances," she answered. "Shinta and I are both pretty good on the mechanical side, but this is my skill — and my passion." She dropped the first of several dead capacitors into her tool bag for material reclamation. Carver V ran a strict recycling program for electronics, since lead, tin, silver, gold, and platinum were metals in very short supply around the planet and had to be mostly imported from Home Terra or other worlds.
"And damn glad to have your assistance when needed," Anderson said with gusto. "The major repair outfits are not cheap, if they'll even come out this far."
"I hear that a lot," Tsukiko finished soldering in the first replacement capacitor. She didn't use cheap parts for repairs, the bootlegs manufactured in some of the scummier Equatorial electronics factories had tolerances well outside acceptable specification. Through Trial and error, she found the best parts lot-for-lot were coming out of Anaheim Electronics for now, and their capacitors were competitively priced with the other big names (Allster Enterprises, Xigon Systems, PMP, Bell Labs), so she was happy to put an aviation-grade AE replacement in swap for a Bengal Labs cheapie.
Both contractor and rancher were silent for a few minutes while she worked on the control board. The last part to be replaced was a wire from a control module to the control board itself, that was connected with terminal screws and did not require solder. The entire repair job, start to finish, did not take her 20 minutes. She had some difficulty getting the access panel back in place, but was able to bolt it back in and climbed down from the machine.
"Ready?" the rancher asked.
"Fire it up," Tsukiko said. John disabled the power cutoff lock-out for the unit, then used his remote control terminal to reactivate the harvester and reinitialize the cycle.
The machine hesitated for a moment, then lurched backwards a row to begin anew the planting process where it missed.
"Hot damn!" John Anderson whooped. "One down, one to go!"
Tsukiko smiled. She loved watching the results of repairing equipment, even the rather brutalistic and autonomous auto-harvester units.
-x-x-x-
(30 April, CE 469, 1630 Hours Local Time)
(Allster Enterprises Orbital Station Freya, in orbit around Home Terra)
Cordelia grunted after the comment from her personal assistant / guard. She stopped the personnel coming off the shuttle at the end of the dock corridor and turned to her short entourage.
"Let's not be fake about this, Ray. I love my sisters as any sister would, but Rosette is vapid and Leene is worse. Even Geoff will only go so far in challenging them," The youngest of the four Allster siblings from this generation explained. "Geoff may be in a position to take over the figurehead position of the company, but it will be Leene calling the shots more than likely, unless something gives him some steel in spine."
"And thus your exile," Cordelia's handmaiden said. Unlike her sisters who had five persons in their personal retinue, Cordelia kept only two, both dual purpose. Ray served as her personal muscle and security, Annette served as handmaiden and instructor-advisor in social and personal matters. Both were accomplished Gundam pilots, and their personal machines were scheduled to come up in a couple weeks from Kentucky, along with a pithy Gundam Dendrobium Stamen for Cordelia to learn how to pilot in.
On technical matters, Cordelia had more than enough horsepower in her brain to smoke all three of her siblings. Cordelia readily admitted she did not have the charisma of either of her sisters or the physical skills of her brother, but what she had was more than enough for her purposes. She silently figured that would be her ticket out of solitary confinement, she just had to figure out the route to take.
"Can't have a smart one hanging around, or the board may choose me as the next President of the family company when my father retires," Cordelia half-spat her contempt for the scenario. "It's the story of Cinderella, in space, and pertaining to a major defense contractor rather than a studly prince. And I must remind myself that the older fairy-tales ended badly more often than not."
Ray and Annette shrugged. It wasn't the first time they had heard such a line from Cordelia, and in all reality they agreed with the premise of it. The big critical issue to come would be what happened when 'Cinderella' took a fancy to a guy rather than just fumed about the premise of her life paralleling the story.
"I know, I know, same old story and still no idea how to get out of it," Cordelia turned and made for her permanent quarters on the station. She had been here several times already in the process of preparing her quarters for her eventual permanent residency, so she knew the way well. "Thankfully, they saw fit to give me a command and research position, so that's exactly what I will do."
"What are you thinking about doing for research?" Annette asked.
Cordelia didn't answer for a few moments, just walked in silence until her peripheral vision caught a look out a window that was facing inward, into the main central hangar and repair area of the station. Freya and her sister stations Frigga, Sif, and Valkyrie were initially commissioned as repair stations for smaller Monitors, capable of handling any Monitors or Warships up to 500,000 tons or a combination of craft smaller than a warship up to the maximum tonnage capacity. As such, they had extensive repair facilities, manufacturing, storage, and even a modicum of engineering ability in the station.
The sight of the empty central bay, a tool box left suspended in the zero-gravity central repair area, and a stray thought, gave Cordelia her answer.
"My sisters have seen fit to send me a Dendrobium Stamen as an early birthday present. Dendrobium is a two-part machine, the Stamen Mobile Suit and the Orchis Mobile Fortress."
"Okay, not bad, but the Orchis already exists," Ray answered.
"The Orchis is a unicorn. As it is right now, in the Orchis IIM configuration, there isn't much that can be done with it without making it large enough to be easy prey for Star Empire warships, correct?" Cordelia asked.
"Aff, it's right on the borderline right now," Ray gave the expected answer. There was a certain size bracket whereby craft were too small to effectively target for capital weapons fire, but that bracket had some play in it — some warships could target capital guns on craft as small as 450 tons reliably, some targets had to be above 600 tons for open season. Capital Lasers were an exception, they could be used on targets as small as 25 tons, but particle cannons, naval autocannons, and some torpedo systems were unusable against light targets with reasonable expectation of hitting the target.
"Well, nobody has explored going past an incremental increase and instead jumping way up in survivability and armaments," Cordelia said bluntly.
"Like, maybe, Elmeth size? Bigro?" Ray asked.
"I am thinking maybe taking the Dendrobium up above 2000 tons mass, maybe higher," Cordelia said. "That would be more on the order of the Big Zam. Only faster and more variably armed."
ZZZ — PLANETARY BRIEF: Blue Terra (Blue Cosmos) — ZZZ
New Chicago is where it started for Blue Cosmos.
An instance of Terra untouched by the hands of humanity is always considered one of the greatest prizes of the interdimensional expansion. A world that requires nearly no terraforming for immediate habitation allows an astute group to immediately set up colonies and begin expanding around the world. The plethora of resources on the world speak for themselves; human history is dotted with wars for those resources, and having the whole world under the control of one party eliminates the necessity for war in pursuit of those resources.
In the decades after the last run of the Exile Fleet (as it became called by the Blue Cosmos exiles), the two major colonies of New Chicago and New Minot began pushing outward and mainly southward, deliberately moving to start exploiting critical resources to rebuild their heavily-stripped technologies. New Kansas City became the capital of agriculture, while New Cincinnati on the Ohio River became the major hub of mining and manufacturing in the Ohio Valley. Less than a hundred years after their exile, Blue Cosmos ignited their first Industrial Fusion Reactor and thus stepped away from their brief dependence on fossil fuels.
Two hundred years after exile, Blue Cosmos set foot on the moon again, though it was by way of stepping off their own first-generation Dropship.
Three hundred and twenty years after exile, the first Blue Cosmos Jumpship departed the Sol system, headed for Alpha Centauri.
Three hundred and eighty years after exile, the first Modulated Jump Core was tested by BC scientists. With that last step on the path to interdimensional travel, Blue Cosmos began preparing in earnest for the invasion of Old Terra (their name for Home Terra).
All they had to do was find it.
-x-x-x-
(2 June, CE 469, 0600 Hours Local Time)
(Blue Cosmos Early-Start Boot Camp Broadsword, North American continent, Blue Terra)
"COME ON! UP! ALL OF YOU SHITHEADS UP!" On the word 'shitheads', Kevin found himself unable to stay asleep and started rousing. His route to consciousness was only accelerated by the banging of an aluminum trashcan and lid as the Drill Instructor marched down the length of the barracks bay, banging the trashcan as he went. "C'MON! DAYLIGHT'S WASTING YOU MISERABLE LITTLE PUKES!"
On that shout, which was delivered right at the foot of Kevin's bunk, he jumped up and mustered forward of his bunk as was proper for the training cadre. He wasn't the first in line, nor was he the last, which was his preferred position. Kevin had learned early that being first was a recipe for being put upon by the other students, and being last was asking to be hammered on by the Drill Instructors.
The banging and shouting lasted until the DI made it to the far end of the barracks from where he started. By that time, all the cadets had made it to the line where they belonged.
"Good to see you dog-faces are up and reasonably conscious!" Drill Instructor Michael Hartmann said in clear sarcasm. "Problem is, I was within five yards of the eastern door before three of you were on your feet. That's not a good start to the morning, kiddies. Ramirez, Sutherland, Trimes, the three of you have five laps around the barracks building in your tightie-whities, get to it right now!"
Both Ramirez and Trimes grumbled about their assignment but gave no serious protest. Sutherland was silent about his fate, just slipped his running shoes on quickly and was out the door to do his laps.
"The rest of you need to jump-start your brains, get ready for this glorious day to come! Fifty pushups, all of you!" Again, there were some grumbles from some of the cadets, but Kevin had learned quickly that keeping your mouth shut in the face of the institutional hammering from the DIs was the surest way to ensure you were not singled out for more hellish treatment.
"When I say wake it and shake it, I mean GET YOUR ASSES UP RIGHT NOW!" DI Hartmann shouted loud enough to be easily audible outside the building. "Our old adversary does not give second chances, and very rarely gives a first chance! If they catch you napping, they will kill you and the man next to you with little or no regard for mama's sweet summer child! You will learn to bear the pain in your arms, chest and back in the here and now, and you WILL internalize this lesson before you are done with early training, because the alternative is death, and death does not help the cause." The DI stopped in front of Kevin, and from the positioning of his boots, Kevin was reasonably certain he was being watched. "What do you think of that, Azrael?"
"WE DO WHAT WE MUST, SIR!" Kevin shouted as he continued his pushups.
"Huh. That's a better answer than I expected, kiddies. It appears this one has some of the brains that God gave him in working order," DI Hartmann said as he continued down the line. "Becker! Get your ass down in line with your neck and your knees! Start your series over, and be quick about it or the whole crew will be doing the series over, follow?"
"YES SIR!" Becker shouted, adjusted his form, and started his count over.
"There are no shortcuts here! There are no hacks, cheats, hoodwinks, tricks, or bamboozles, the only way you run any risk of surviving is by doing it right! Our old adversary will not sit idly by while you wave your asses up in the air, some joker on the other side will take that as his target to put a couple good rifle rounds in your butt-cheeks! And because we're real-deal humans, what rifle fire we took 400 years ago is going to dig just as much of a canoe in your asses today as it did to your forefathers' buddies all those years past!" There were some grim chuckles from the crew, but it was short lived. "Now, all of you sweet-cheeks who're done with your morning wake-up call, on your feet!"
Kevin clawed his way to standing and came to attention as was proper. As expected, Becker was the last to complete his series and come to standing, though he was shortly joined by the three outstanding recruits that had done their laps and were back inside.
"Today's PT fun starts with a five-mile nature hike, then we do the daily dozen and get cleaned up for school. There's no liberty today after your standard classes, SERE Instructor Howard is coming down from Fort Djibril to give you pukes an introduction to bushcraft survival, read me?"
"YES SIR!" the bay rang to the sounds of forty early-start recruits shouting in unison.
-x-x-x-
(10 June, CE 469, 0830 Hours Local Time)
(New Chicago Elementary School, North American continent, Blue Terra)
If this is the road I have to take, then so be it, Sylvie thought behind an infuriated mien. What rage she had been suppressing for weeks finally cut loose, and with this latest insult it was time for the scrap.
Two lessons echoed in her head: If you start it, you damn well better finish it, a saying that went back a long way in her family, some believed all the way back to her great ancestor Kate Linser. The other lesson was much more brutal: there is no such thing as a fair fight, only fights you win and fights you lose. This second lesson was also passed down through her family line, definitely from Kate Linser, which she admitted she had ripped off Mendel for use against them when the war resumed in years to come.
Efram, the biggest brat and bully in the school, was utterly unprepared for her opening move. Rather than do something juvenile like try to punch him in the gut, Sylvie figured she'd start by incapacitating him with two hands to his ears. No warning, no hesitation, just at it with both arms — he was fast enough to stop her left arm, but her right hand contacted and immediately brought him low, screaming in severe pain as his mental control folded and he collapsed to his knees. She would find out later that her strike to his ear had ruptured his inner ear, necessitating surgery to correct his hearing.
Stunned by the strike, she grabbed two handfuls of hair and yanked his head down as she brought her right knee up into his face, which caused him to recoil and collapse onto his back. The glassed-over look in his eyes told Sylvie she had TKO'd the punk, he was out of the game for the time being. Two hits, fight's over, she thought passively. Belatedly she realized that her choice in tactics had fulfilled both lessons in one swift action.
Bullying was the norm in all levels of schooling on Blue Terra, an aftereffect of the personalities that had been exiled. And, as these things happened, hammering a bully down was a respected action. Sylvie, whose main goal in life was to be the best at whatever she set herself to, was not going to tolerate someone dissing and pissing on her.
"Anyone else?" she asked the couple buddies of the downed and incapacitated Efram. They didn't answer or move, so she moved on her way to the recess monitor to report the incident.
"I heard the prelude," Recess Monitor Waters said. "I'm supposed to tell you not to go straight to the scrap, but that asshat earned it," he said.
"It is what it is," Sylvie said with some jitter to voice, the last of her stress bleeding out.
"Here," Waters handed her a cookie voucher. "I'll have to put the incident in your record, but Efram's already a documented bully. You won't get a mark for it."
"Thanks."
"Head inside and get your head straight before class," the Recess Monitor shooed her toward the building.
-x-x-x-
(10 September, CE 474, 0900 Hours Local Time)
(Offices of DeGerith Holdings, Kileska Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
The meeting here was ritualized, part business matter, part meet-and-greet between powerful families, and part introductory on the coming arranged marriage. Each side brought only the father, the mother, and their respective child for the meeting. The parents would do their meet in one room, the two 'betrothed' had a separate room for themselves with facing loveseats across a coffee table and a chaperone — in this case, a maid of the DeGerith family resplendent in an actual french maid frilly uniform and below-knee-length skirt.
After Sionet closed the door to the room, Zachary DeGerith stood up in respect of his guest. "Sionet Brelle?" Sionet simply nodded slightly. "Not at all what I was expecting, and entirely more," Zachary said.
Something in what he said, or how he said it, or something else between the two, had the opposite reaction in her from what she expected by the phrasing. Something about it put her at ease, not totally so but enough that she wasn't immediately inclined to blow him a third eye with her Browning Hi-Power.
Sionet stepped around the loveseat and took a seat in the middle of the two cushions, making it fairly obvious she wasn't interested in having someone else sit with her. Zachary sat down across the table from her and said nothing for a moment, just gauging the lady on the far side of the coffee set. His next question was something of a shock to Sionet, but not impossible. "Carry a Browning Hi-Power?"
"And you know that how?" Sionet asked sharply — a bit too sharply, she realized ex post facto.
"It's the Brelle Mafiosi's preferred piece for general use, same as how DeGerith prefers the Beretta 92. Old world slug throwers," he answered calmly. Sionet realized that he was being deliberately calm and collected, trying to defuse the tension in this meeting. "Cynthia, bug report?" he asked of the maid / attendant.
"None," Cynthia replied. "Here's the report." She waved a folder in his direction.
"Thank you," he did a quick glance on the data and was satisfied. "It is safe to talk here frankly, milady Brelle," Zach said. "And I can tell you already have something on your mind."
"Yeah, speaking frankly, I want no part of an arranged marriage," Sionet said bluntly.
"Good, makes two of us," Zach said, which answer brought Sionet up short. "What? Don't tell me you think the average guy would want to be married to a lady that would just as soon shoot him a third eye?" Zach continued, which phrasing immediately set Sionet to wondering if he was a newtype or psionic.
"I figured the average guy would want the guaranteed ass," Sionet said.
"Some might try, and you'd be well within right to double-tap them and pray over their cooling body. Last I checked, Mendel still has the laws against arranged marriages on the books, and that means you have to consent to it. If we both don't consent, well, game over even if our parents don't like it."
"And you don't? Why?" Sionet half-stammered in shock.
" 'Cause this whole thing sucks. I have the family interests to look over, and I have a couple girlfriends lined up, but that doesn't have to include a shotgun wedding and a lifetime of waiting for the knife," DeGerith said. "Look, if you want to take the path of least resistance, we can come to an arrangement after the wedding about personal space. Otherwise, I'm not afraid to tell my father I want to go my own path."
"I do want my own path, but not in the Mafia," Sionet grumped. "Wanted to learn how to pilot."
"Aircraft?" Zach asked.
"Gundams," Sionet corrected him.
Zach nodded. "If you disappear over on the Dendez continent, you could possibly join up with a merc unit or militia cell and earn it," he suggested. "It's not hard to disappear, just make sure you stay unidentified and off the financial grid."
"Thanks," Sionet acknowledged the point. "I expect we might be forced into this nonetheless, but I will try."
"If we are forced into it, we will see where it goes," Zach said. "Who knows? You might like it after a while, or we can live separate practical lives while on paper being together," he claimed.
Sionet sighed, but smiled thereafter. "This is totally not what I expected to hear today."
"Because you're not expecting to hear the proper and just thing," Cynthia said from her post to the side of the room. "I chose this life because it is interesting and pays well, but even I have to admit that Mafiosi are not always proper."
"Maybe that can change," Zachary opined. "Maybe, but we've got to be willing to make the change," he said.
-x-x-x-
(12 September, CE 474, 1330 Hours Local Time)
(Mackie's Club, City of Westport, Dendez Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
Kyle shrugged at the whining from the other kids in the room. It was his evening to call the music, and chillstep mixes were good for concentration on homework. "I'm trying to do my shit, Beatrice," he waved a workbook at her. "My evening to call the songs, and I concentrate best with this," he waved at the speaker over their worktables.
Getting out of the orphanage game was a big step up for Kyle. Now he was in a small group setting here at Mackie's Club, the proprietor was an awesome dude, and he worked for the club as a part-time employee to make some bucks. Planetary law mandated that half of his earnings had to go into a savings or investment account until he was of majority (18, up from the Magi tradition of majority being 12), but Kyle considered that no big deal. Just meant that he was earning interest and dividends on his wages, and his orphanage dues were all paid by the social services institute, so it was effectively pure profit. And working for a club that served decent bar food meant that dinner was reasonably decent when it could be snuck in between bussing tables.
After the dinner rush, though, all the orphans had to do their homework, no exceptions. The Proprietor would not brook any argument on the matter.
"Lame," Beatrice complained, but huffed and bent back to her workbooks just the same.
"What got you into this stuff, man?" Julio asked from the opposite side of Kyle's worktable. He was an orphan of a railroad accident; a locomotive derailed and rammed his house, leaving him the only survivor of a USSA immigrant family.
"It was what my parents listened to," Kyle said. "One of the few things I still have of theirs is their music collection, and most of it was easy stuff like this."
"Oh, that's cool," Benjamin said from the table opposite Beatrice.
"I need some pop music," Beatrice huffed and stormed out the back door of the club, workbook in one hand and her personal music player in the other. Kyle didn't begrudge her the choice of music, her whims and her preferences, nor did he begrudge her the hardware. She did a waitress' duties every night the club was open, and her wages paid for the best music player on the market as well as a collection of both new and old pop music. Kyle figured himself not the jealous or possessive type and thus had no enmity about her collection, but was definitely still a bit miffed by the Mafiosi.
"I'm fine with it," Talia said from the far corner of the room. "Helps me concentrate as well."
"You going to start taking your chances on the synth after bussing?" Darien poked Kyle in the back as he passed on his way to his worktable.
"How about on my break times?" Kyle asked with a smile. "I'm willing to chance getting booed off stage for doing a live set between the DJ's run on the turntable."
"Hot damn, braver than I am," Julio said with some reverence.
"Dunno how well I'll do, but you don't get anywhere thinking about it, you have to do it," Kyle admitted.
-x-x-x-
(18 September, CE 474, 0800 Hours Local Time)
(Sakato Homestead, Rural Kileska Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
"So, first the neural interface, now a super-powered server? What are you planning, sister?" Shinta asked.
"Take over the world, one website at a time," Tsukiko said sarcastically.
"Thanks, I needed to hear that," her elder brother said with equal sarcasm.
"It's part of my attempt to mostly pass my Trade School requirements without having to set foot in a classroom," Tsukiko said. "Last thing I need is to fry my chances at decent accreditation because I know more about the subject than the Instructor and get mouthy with them."
"Yeah, you do have a bit of an independent streak and an unwillingness to suffer tomfoolery," Shinta noted offhand while his sister worked to assemble the components of the motherboard on her machine. It was not a one-piece unit, unlike most consumer or business-grade devices, this was something fit for major mainframe units and had to be hand-assembled at the site.
"Thankfully they let you do virtual classroom work as well as the usual home-study work," Tsukiko's mother said from the doorway to the basement that her daughter had de facto appropriated as her workshop, bedroom, and personal 'peaceful' space. "A'course, I am not an IT person by any stretch, and I can tell you're building an overkill machine for your requirements."
"Go big or go home?" Shinta asked.
"Doesn't work, I already am home," Tsukiko pointed out the obvious shortcoming of his question. "And you've caught me red-handled," she waved the handle end of her favorite screwdriver at her mother — red, no less. "This will definitely reach my necessary hardware goals for my technical classes, but I want to do something more with it. I want to dive into the world of AI programming and simulation administration."
"AI Programming? Isn't that one of the most exclusive fields for technology?" Yuna Sakato asked.
"Not one of, the flat most exclusive field," Tsukiko corrected her. "If you have a doctorate in AI Programming you run a thirty-seventy chance of finding a career in that field. If you walk into your interview with your own AI entity already on record and active, your chances are eighty-twenty your favor. The odds only get better if you multiplex AI entities, and I figure that is a good starting point," the computer genius detailed her plans while still working to assemble her super-server box.
"So you are actively working towards taking over the world with AI entities," Shinta grumped. "Well, if you succeed, it will make our lives busy and interesting."
"Just one question," Yuna asked. "Why are you wearing only a swimsuit?"
"Saw it on a webcomic from long before the bad old days of the Cosmic Era, called Megatokyo. The comic posits that the less you wear, the less static hazard there is. So I tried it, and it is true. I generate a lot less static in a bathing suit than I do pants and a shirt."
Shinta groaned. "Gods help us all, if this is to be the future."
ZZZ — PLANETARY BRIEF: Home Terra (Multiple Nations) — ZZZ
Six major states and one minor state survived the wars and the purge of Blue Cosmos.
Mendel, the 'ship of jokers' that defied a world and survived to tell the tale. Their knowledge of the stars and readiness for the challenges would give them multiple early key advantages, and the veneration of the military that hallmarked the Magi way of life would ensure that none of their rivals gave serious thought to invading the Mendel cordon.
ZAFT, a nation born of the colonies and forged on the battlefields of Europe into a power-player striking well above their numbers. Initially slowed by the Coordinator Reproduction Issue of the third-generation Coordinators, they would nonetheless persevere as the PLANT colonies spread through their cordon of stars and colonies soon followed on the many worlds.
The United States of South America, whose vengeance trip catapulted them to the stars and onward into the future. The mix of old-world traditions and new-world techniques would serve them well wherever they went, and would even spur on the resurrection of some of the Central American and South American religions amongst the stars — albeit in a much less bloody fashion of worship from the hallmark of mesoamerican polytheism.
The Emirate of Orb, the nation that lost the most in the first war, stayed silent in the second war, and found their soul again amongst the stars. They were fast out of the gate and to the stars, but their physical size being the smallest of nations would cripple their early gains with a slow growth rate. It was not until the nation understood at a cultural level that colonization meant space aplenty that birth rates started rising to match that of the Old Six Star Empires.
The Kingdom of Scandinavia, always a nation of ships and exploration, made surprising gains in the early years by way of their Explorer Corps. In the first century, their ships went the farthest outward of all, and their colonies spread farther, faster than any others. This, ultimately, led to them repeating the mistake of the Negaverse in their early years: spread out too far, expansion slows proportional to the spread of your colonies. By halting the Explorer Corps for 100 years to better exploit already-held worlds, the Scandinavians were able to eventually catch up to the other players.
The Equatorial Union, geographically hamstrung on Terra, quickly found their feet amongst the many worlds and expanded with a surprising vengeance. Relatively untouched by the Second Bloody Valentine War, and with a population best described as 'hungry', the Equatorial Union had the largest initial outlay of colonies on three planets, and made good progress from there. As of the CE 470s, the largest amount of colonized worlds is in Equatorial hands, though planetary control and exploitation are hit-and-miss compared to other nations.
And the Oceania Union, the smallest of the states from the era long past, initially was never bid a corridor of the star map, to which the other nations gave them the first new parallel dimension as theirs exclusively, never to be contested by the other nations. This would give them a unique position in centuries, millennia to come, but their start as the smallest and least obtrusive of the nations would prevent them immediately exploiting this advantage. Their true size is shrouded by the dimensional barrier, but none of the other players believe them to be lagging far behind, if at all.
On the homeworld of these expanding Star Empires, resource exhaustion was no longer an issue: importation and trade fed the industries and commerce once starved of material. The home nations of the Star Empires in turn shipped finished goods and people offworld to the colonies, allowing them to expand further into the wide swaths of the galaxy. Home Terra may have been classified as a 'resource-exhausted' world, but no nation thereupon gave thought to abandoning the cradle of humanity. This was their world, paid for in blood thousands of wars past, and it would forever stand amongst the Star Empires as the example of everything humanity could do right, and did do wrong.
And, even as early as the CE400s, there was an air of prestige about Terra; and for those living on it, a certain state of being, of belonging, that they could never shake. In time, persons were born away from Terra and would never set eyes upon mother earth, but all knew where humanity came from. In centuries, millennia, eons to come, that knowledge would be the greatest touchstone to the Star Empires.
A needed touchstone in the black void of space.
-x-x-x-
(1 October, CE 474, 1630 Hours Local Time)
(Allster Enterprises Orbital Station Freya)
"Five years of engineering," Ray said, then whistled. "Five years to come to this design."
"Little Cinderella has come a frighteningly long way," Annette said to the other SPO / assistant to the Allster daughter.
"Better still, she listens," Ray said. "I was surprised by how much she values input on the matter, I mean, this is her project after all, and eventually going to be her ass on the line in it, so I wanted to make sure it was safe and reliable, but..."
"But the Allster family isn't famous for taking outside advice," a third voice said.
"Sir!" Both Ray and Annette sprang to attention for the new entrant. "Did not know you were coming, sir," Ray continued after he approached.
"Don't worry about me," Geoffrey Allster said as he stepped up to the observation window for the lower half of the pressurized dock. "I came to pass her some news from the business. And to see what she was up to that would require six engine nacelles from Xigon Systems."
"This," Annette jerked her thumb at the engineering rendering of Cordelia's design. The HUD on the window was showing a rendering of the full-size craft overlaid the beginning of the structure members that Cordelia was out in the bay starting the fabrication on.
"Wow," Geoffrey gaped at the technical specs of the new unit. "2600 Tons? This thing is a behemoth Mobile Armor!"
"Had to quintuple the mass of it to make survivability and equipment requirements, and add another 100 tons to balance and fine-tune performance," Annette said. "Four times the net firepower, almost a full order of magnitude of increased defense, and a marginal increase in speed."
"And still controlled by a single Stamen MS?" Geoffrey ran a finger across the drawing. "New munitions that are also usable by the older Dendrobium IIM with software upgrades. I'm starting to wonder if I have an evil genius for a youngest sister."
"Genius? Definitely," Annette said. "Evil? Probably not. Maybe. There's no dating scene up here, so we haven't really taken her full measure yet."
"Huh, I thought there was a couple boys in her age bracket up here," Geoffrey inquired indirectly.
"Yeah, there is, and six other ladies in the same age bracket," Ray pointed out. "And, best as I can figure, she's more mentally wired for problem-solving and single-purpose hyperaggression than teamwork and the dating scene."
"Isolation will do that to a person," Geoffrey said. "I went through our generation's genetic mods in the Coordinator Program, and I was a bit surprised to find that Rosette, Leene, and Cordelia, all three had the same pattern of mods, but the take from those results are wildly different. Rosette is trending toward supermodel physique, Leene not far behind, but Cordelia has very little of that working for her."
"And the Zero-grav work she does is not helping," Annette pointed out. Zero gravity exposure for extended periods of time tended to cause unusual physical variations during a person's growth cycle, which was well known to Mendel back to the days before the Mjolnr landed in the Cosmic Era. One of the major results was omnidirectional bone density growth as opposed to unidirectional density growth (primarily downward with gravity), and that wasn't even the most notable change for her.
"On the flipside, Cordelia has the lion's share of the family brains for this generation, an aggressive streak that puts me to shame, and apparently a natural knack for engineering," Geoffrey tapped the design document again. "This could make or break her, and make or break the R&D group. Is she learning to pilot as well?"
"Learning? Pfft," Ray dismissed that. "She's already bested Annette in both sims and in the real deal. She gets me a little less than 50-50, call it 43 - 57 my favor. Couple more months, I don't think I'll hold enough of an edge. And God help anyone who challenges her once this Mobile Fortress is built and ready to go."
Geoffrey looked back out to where Cordelia was busily working on bolting two parts of the frame together with the assistance of two of the naval technicians. "If she makes it work, she'll have a shot at the chairmanship of the company."
"If she makes it work, she'll use it to raise holy hell with whoever threatens the company or the family, I don't think she wants any part of the command functions beyond where she is," Annette pointed out. "She likes the whole 'Cinderella in Space' schtick, probably will play it to the hilt for a few years."
"To each his own," Geoffrey snorted, then smiled. "And God help the guy that she takes a fancy to."
-x-x-x-
(10 October, CE 474, 0600 Hours Local (BC Standard) Time)
(Blue Cosmos Junior Pilot Academy Excelsior, North American continent, Blue Terra)
Kevin looked back and forth from monitor to monitor cautiously, carefully, trying to pick out any details that would allow him to see the OpFor before they saw him. Unfortunately, he was just as blind as the other guy on the other side of the match because the gun bunnies in 3 Artillery Training Regiment were pumping the entire grid square full of smoke and sensor jammers. He figured his visibility averaged around 150 meters and maybe stretched to 200 every now and again, certainly not enough for 'early warning' in a match like this.
The first indicator he had that the enemy was close was the light-off of a beam saber to his left. Given the fog density, Kevin already knew he was within easy close distance, so any attempt to guard or draw his own beam saber was likely a losing proposition — and, courtesy of one of the surviving clips of battle footage from the Battle of Chicago, it was specifically trained into the cadets to trade space for time rather than try to get aggressive with the space monsters. The textbook reaction would have been to bolt away from the enemy, to his right, but in this case he chose the less predictable option of going forward and using his thrusters to spin him to face the enemy.
Executing the maneuver was not as simple as framing it in his mind. Kyle hammered his jets forward to move through the smoke some 350 meters, and while he was clear of the ground he used the thruster capability of the Windam VI MS to rotate to face the enemy. Much as he had suspected, the enemy tried to bolt straight forward to close the gap, and only after he closed the initial gap did he realize Kevin wasn't where he thought Kevin would be. Kevin instructed his MS to draw the beam saber from the hip rack but did not light it, since the enemy was left looking for him in the fog.
Kevin jumped again, this time past the foe's initial axis of advance, to where he was off the tango's right baffles (1), and from there he made to close on the enemy. Shield forward and beam saber held low, Kyle closed the gap before the enemy knew what was happening, and only lit his saber off in the last 40 meters of closing distance. He drove the training-strength blade in at what would be kidney level on a human, on a decided upward angle, and with the shield still set forward even if the reactor in the enemy machine would have cooked off, Kyle had a better than even likelihood of survival. His Windam VI would have been trashed, mind you, a reactor explosion in close proximity is no joke, but the untimely detonation of an enemy MS could stifle an enemy battle line in a hurry at the cost of his machine needing to undergo a month's worth of repairs.
"DAMNIT!" Kevin immediately recognized the voice of Cadet 355-03, Tania Leene.
"Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh! Stayin' Alive!" Kevin taunted her.
"Not for long, pretty boy," and a bare moment after the word 'boy' his damage panel went red nearly from top to bottom. "Beam rifle to the back, you ain't stayin' alive today," Cadet 355-13, Hamer Leene (Tania's twin brother) said. "You've been struck by a smooth criminal," Hamer finished the taunt as he stomped past the newly disabled machine.
"Ah, well, shit happens," Kevin consoled and consigned himself to the L for the day.
-x-x-x-
(12 October, CE 474, 1800 Hours Local (BC Standard) Time)
(Blue Cosmos Junior Pilot Academy Excelsior, North American continent, Blue Terra)
Sylvie sighed before she closed the sim pod. Unlike the basic MS battle of a couple days past, the advanced training on Gundams was conducted entirely by sim pod until a Gundam was issued to the pilot — and Sylvie was still a hundred hours off her mark for qualifying on her platform of choice, the Forbidden Charon. And, even after a Gundam was issued, most continuing training and practice that was not expressly live-fire was still conducted in the pods.
"Still a bit miffed that you came out on top, Sylvie," Tania complained while the mainframe finished assembling the training scenario for today's session.
"When all you have is concealment, you have to be the sneakiest bitch on the battlefield to be the top of the stack when the smoke clears." Since the prior user of the sim pod was a bit larger than she was, Sylvie took a few moments to adjust the seat and controls to her slightly smaller frame. "That big booty of yours makes you the least stealthiest lady in the pilot barracks."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but at least I've got something to flaunt," Tania retorted, which dig did strike home at Sylvie. As much as she was out to become the best pilot in Blue Cosmos, she did still want her shot at children like most proper BC ladies, and her rather nondescript appearance meant that Tania got hit on far more than she did. On the flipside:
"Don't have to flaunt it when I don't need to flaunt it," Sylvie shot back. "I'm here to master Mobile Suit warfare, not ride the bologna pony. More than one way to gain rank in this army, and I'll leave that road to you."
"God damn, need a fire extinguisher for that one," Emilea Leeds said from her seat in Sim Pod 7.
"Credit where due: that was pretty savage, Stonebridge," Instructor Jasmine said. "Still, enough trash talk, ladies, it is time for the sim drop-in. Select your machines and get ready."
Sylvie may not have had enough flight time in the Forbidden Charon to make her field ready, and she would not have the necessary sim hours for another six months or the live-fire hours for another year, but she had already scored high enough that her personal machine in the simulator network was customized. So, she selected her custom unit and prepared for drop.
The Sim Pods lit up and readied for the drop exercise, which was one of the big requirements for Blue Cosmos Mobile Warfare training. If you weren't expressly assigned to an assault ship (Archangel III-class or one of the newer classes of Atmospheric Assault warships, such as the Clear Skies-class or the Sutherland-class), you were assigned to a Dropship and the expectation was that you would be hot-dropped onto the battlefield to clear the way for the landing of conventional forces.
"So, going to do any D, or are you going to be the first celibate ace in Blue Cosmos history?" Emilea asked.
"Don't get me wrong, I'll do the bounce when I find a swinging dick I can tolerate," Sylvie said. "Until then, I guess I'll just have to get wet off the salty tears of those below me on the leaderboard." Which, she had to admit, was everyone in the 355 class except Kevin Azrael. Sylvie was part of the Group 2 Cadets for her class, meaning that she very rarely interacted with the laissez-faire Kevin and had thus far not had a chance to challenge him.
"Keep it up, you'll be a Captain before you find a boy-toy," Cadet 355-16, Hana Editto, pointed out the trajectory that Sylvie was afraid she was on.
"Not a bad thought, actually," Sylvie said contemplatively. "Private quarters. I could see that being handy." On the sim pods, their screens changed radically as the drop pods blasted away from their simulated Gundams, meaning their machines were now exposed to open air. "Showtime, girls!" Sylvie said as she bent to her controls.
-x-x-x-
(6 February, CE 476, 1100 Hours Local Time)
(Brelle Mansion, Kileska Continent, Planet Carver V, Protectorate of Mendel)
Sionet had ignored the knocking at the door deliberately. She knew who was on the far side of the door, and knew that what she was about to do would not sit well with her.
What Sionet was not expecting was her mother to be able to open the door with her key — Sionet had deliberately sabotaged the lock to prevent any of the keys working except hers. So, she was a bit shocked when the door opened and closed.
Sionet spared her a glance and then looked back to what she was working on. "Don't stop me," she said simply, and continued working on the mechanical timer she had for the device.
"I found the two jerry cans you converted to napalm, so I put them in the munitions locker to cover your ass and came to talk to you," Jasmine Brelle hugged her daughter from behind, which Sionet always found both endearing and disarming. "I knew you didn't want this life, I just didn't know you were willing to burn it all to the ground to prevent it."
"This shit has to end, one way or another, mother. Society can't go on like this, being run at two levels by mafiosi and the government, and I don't want to perpetuate it even in a kindler, gentler way."
"Then we don't," Jasmine told her daughter forcefully. "Pack a bag like you intend to do an overnight and disassemble this thing. Bring only things you will need on the run. You are going to disappear."
"How?" Sionet asked.
Jasmine smiled. "An interplanetary society has a lot of shadows, a lot of disconnect, a lot of places where a person can become anonymous. You've already learned how to live as Mafia, which covers half of what you need to know. Now you learn to live as a shadow, and build your own future. Get packing."
Sionet did as ordered and without hesitation. She had convinced herself that burning the whole mess down was the way to go, but an escape plan was even better. Disassembling the device took only a minute, the mechanical parts she put in a box and mussed into some other gear she sometimes tinkered with, the electrical components went into a smoke detector she had disassembled for the purpose, and the two bricks of C-4 she had were not particularly incongruent — she was studying 'demolitions' under the family expert, so that could be written off easily as a couple spares from her last round of training.
As to the box itself? She put several pairs of her shoes in it, and some of her matching handbags, and she was good to go there. It didn't look purpose built, but close enough for subterfuge, she figured. She pushed it back into the floor of her closet and switched over to her day-bag.
The day bag was a typical sports-style duffel bag that she kept a couple spare clothes sets in for fast travel, nothing special and nothing too fancy. To this she added her usual toiletries kit (the one that had a tracker bug in it, she knew), an extra pair of walking shoes, her cash box (hard cash was invaluable for both shopping sprees and escape), and two boxes of extra 9mm rounds. The last thing she took was her spare codex necklace and a photo of her and her mother from happier times.
On her belt, she put on an extra magazine pack for her Browning Hi-Power, giving her four magazines plus one in the gun. Over that, she slipped a windbreaker in the Brelle Mafiosi colors and snugged it down.
Sionet stopped in front of her full-body mirror and sighed. A lifetime of preparing to become the effective matriarch of a crime family, and wife to the head of another crime family, was not all that good preparation for a run to the shadows, she figured. Thankfully, what little Coordinator modification she had was not geared toward good looks or a voluptuous form, her decent appearance and average looks would be good camouflage going forward. How she would get around having an unusable identity was another challenge for another day, Sionet figured.
She zipped up her bag, checked that she had a round chambered in her Browning Hi-Power, and headed downstairs to the garage. Her mother already had the vehicle warmed up and waiting for them.
Author's Chapter Afterword:
This is where it begins, the quick and dirty intro to the 470s Cosmic Era and how the future that once was has now become the reality that is far from sunshine and roses.
I'm not going to say much in this chapter's afterword, as this chapter will be released parallel to the first full and proper chapter of the Jokers Wild Set 3, and there will be a bit more meat to that chapter when it comes out — and probably more room for questions at that time. Of course, if you do have anything you want to ask, anything you want clarified, or even any ideas you think would be awesome, go ahead and drop me either a PM or a review. I read everything and I do respond, either in story or by messaging back. I listen, but don't always heed what is thrown at me; kind of an old bad habit of mine, but I do try.
Other than that, nothing much else for this chapter.
NEXT UP: Sionet begins her journey from one shadow to the next, with an eye toward a future she believed long gone but now may be possible…
Review Replies: As this is the prologue chapter for the story, no reviews yet. Anything you have to say will be responded to as appropriate.
The Gripe Sheet:
No complaints so far. Thanks to Takeshi Yamato for keeping my prose straight and for throwing ideas at me as they came to him. Some of those ideas are going to make for interesting story tidbits, though I won't say when or where until it is appropriate.
Footnotes:
(0): As with all footnote sections in my stories, I'm obligated to put in some odd wisdom for the opening footnote in the first segment of a new story. So, here's an interesting joke/factoid I picked up some time ago: Americans are not entirely bereft of the Metric System, despite popular opinion on the matter. The most prevalent industry for metric in the US, though, is the firearms industry. Food for thought.
(1): Baffles is a submariner's term for being behind an enemy submarine, where his propeller wash largely renders the forward and side (lateral) sonar systems ineffective at detecting their approaching nemesis.